Claire took her mom’s hand.
Wyatt watched them go, then fell to the bed again. She’d been beaten by her dad, left by her husband with three babies, and now struggled with growing a business. It didn’t seem right that he couldn’t give her money. But that ship had sailed. Worse, he had to confess that he was the one who’d told her dad how well she was doing.
Wyatt looked at his watch, counting down the hours till naptime, feeling as if he was counting down the hours to doomsday.
STILL TOO WORKED UP to sit at a table and run numbers, Missy pulled a box of flour from her pantry, along with semisweet chocolate chips, sugar and cornstarch. Wyatt taking the kids without pushing for answers as to why she was so upset was about the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, so she would repay him with a cake. A fancy chocolate cake with raspberry sauce.
While the cake baked, she took snacks and juice boxes out to the kids, with an extra for Wyatt. Though he accepted the cookies and juice box, he more or less stayed back, but she understood why. Not only had he seen her sobbing that morning, but she’d rejected his advances the night before. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to talk to her.
But the cake would bring them back to their normal footing.
As it cooled, she put raspberry juice, cornstarch and a quarter cup of sugar into a saucepan. After it had boiled, she strained it to remove the seeds, then set it aside. Using more chocolate chips, she made the glaze for the cake.
By the time the kids returned to the house for lunch, the cake was ready. As usual, Wyatt didn’t come inside with them. He went to his own house for lunch. But that was okay. While the kids napped, she’d take the baby monitor receiver with her and deliver the cake to him.
The kids washed up, ate lunch, brushed their teeth and crawled into their little beds.
Missy took a breath and tucked the monitor under her arm. She grabbed the cup of sauce in one hand and the cake in the other and carried the best looking cake she’d ever baked across her yard, under the shrub branch and to his porch.
She lightly kicked the door with her foot. “Wyatt?”
He appeared on the other side of the screen. “Yeah?”
She presented the cake. “I made this for you.”
He glanced down at the cake, then back at her. “I thought we talked about you baking me a cake?”
She laughed. “It’s a thank-you for helping me out this morning. Not a thank-you for playing, because we both know that’s wrong. It’s thanks for helping me.”
When he said nothing, she laughed again. “Open the door, idiot, so we can cut this thing and see if it tastes as good as it looks.”
He opened the door and she stepped inside the modest kitchen. She set the cake on the table. “Where did your gram keep her knives?”
He walked to the cabinets, opened a drawer and retrieved a knife.
“Might as well get two forks and two plates while you’re gathering things.”
He silently did as he was told. She happily cut the cake. Dewy and moist, it sliced like a dream. She placed a piece on each plate, then drizzled raspberry sauce over them.
Handing one to Wyatt, she said, “There was supposed to be a whipped cream flower on each piece, but I didn’t have enough hands to carry the whipped cream.”
He sniffed a laugh, but didn’t say anything.
That was when she felt the weirdness. Something was definitely up.
“The cake really is just a simple thank-you. No strings attached.” She paused, pointing at his piece. “Try it.”
He slid his fork into it and put a bite in his mouth. His eyes closed and he groaned. “Good God. That’s heaven on a fork.”
Pride tumbled through her. “I know! It’s a simple recipe I found online. But it tastes like hours of slave labor.”
She laughed again, but Wyatt set down his fork. “We have to talk.”
At the stern tone of his voice, her appetite deserted her. She set her fork down, too. “You want to know what made me cry this morning.”
He squeezed his eyes shut again, then popped them open. “Actually, that’s the problem. I already know what made you cry this morning. When I was bringing the kids back after their surprise visit to my house, I overhead you and Monty.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment replaced pride. Heat slid up her cheeks. Her chest tightened.
“I heard him ask for money.”
She said nothing, only stared at the pretty cake between them.
“I also heard what you said about him beating your mom, you and your sister.”
She pressed her lips together.
“But that’s not the worst of it.”
Her head shot up and she caught his gaze. “Really? What can be worse than my dad beating me? About living a lie? About worrying every damn night that he was going to kill my mom, until she finally did die? What can be worse than that?”
“Look. I know it was a terrible thing.”
“You know nothing.” And she didn’t want him to know anything. If she believed there was a chance for them to have a relationship, she might have told him. The timing was perfect. He already knew the overall story. She might have muddled through the humiliating details, if only because she was sick to death of living a lie. But knowing there was no chance for them, not even the possibility of love, she preferred to keep her secrets and her mortification to herself.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” His quiet acceptance tiptoed into the room. From his tone she knew he wasn’t happy with her answer, but he accepted it. “But I have to tell you one more thing.” He dragged in another breath. “One day last week I ate at the diner. When I was done, I went back to the kitchen to say hello to your dad, and somehow the subject of you and your business came up—”
She jumped out of her seat. “Oh, my God! You told him?”
“I’m sorry.”
She gaped at him, horrible things going through her brain. She’d spent years staying away from her dad, not going to town picnics and gatherings or anything even remotely fun to protect her kids. And in one casual conversation, Wyatt had ruined years of her sacrifice.
She grabbed the monitor and turned to leave.
“I’m sorry!”
She spun to face him. “He’s a leech. A liar. A thief. I don’t want him in my life! I especially
